


Monster

by Tired_Mixtape



Series: My Original Narratives [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Internal Monologue, Jealousy, Monologue, One Shot, Original work - Freeform, POV First Person, Reflection, Self-Loathing, Self-Reflection, Short One Shot, Short Story, unnamed character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24798619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tired_Mixtape/pseuds/Tired_Mixtape
Summary: She was so perfect. Perfect hair. Perfect eyes. It isn't possible for anyone to be that perfect, right?A short narrative I wrote during a practice course for my grade 12 english diploma.
Series: My Original Narratives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793668





	Monster

I don’t understand how anyone could be so perfect. The steady hand on my shaking shoulder. Calming words of reassurance whispered in my ear. Understanding eyes soothing my soul. Undeterred by the mucusy splotch I most likely left on her soft pink sweater, she continued to comfort me for hours in my time of need.

There is no one more loyal and caring than my best friend, I can say that with confidence. All who know her can attest to that. Despite all this, I can’t help but hope she isn’t as flawless as everyone thinks. She’s a vision of beauty with her flowing platinum locks and glistening crystal eyes. She presents herself with an air of confidence that I can’t seem to grasp. Even after knowing her for years, I’ve never seen a chink in her armour. Always sensing exactly what to say and when. Appearing to genuinely care about my slightest whim and fancy. Prepared to jump to my aid if I ever express the slightest worry. There’s nothing for me to pick at.

Maybe it’s wrong of me to be looking for mistakes. It  _ is _ possible for someone to be just that great, right? Honestly looking out for others with no regard for themselves. It could all be real...

No way. She has to be hiding something. Underneath that flowery exterior, there’s a master puppeteer. Using others to achieve what she wants. Perhaps she’s using  _ me _ to get what she wants. As the miserable one of the pair, others will see her ‘caring’ and ‘loving’ actions, therefore building her up in their minds. She carries me at her side for purely personal gains, a marionette dancing to her tunes. Even as she murmurs how much she cares for me in my ear, she’s plotting the next way she can use me to get ahead. One day, her glimmering facade will crumble away leaving only the shriveled witch behind, and I’ll have seen it coming all along.

No. I say all these things, but I know better. If there’s a shriveled witch anywhere at all, it’s me. What right do I have to suspect her of anything? All these baseless accusations are to be expected from someone like me. Even as I look in the mirror, eyes rubbed red from an evening of tears, I fear the moment when my own mask cracks. When people will see me for the conniving beast I really am. My crocodile tears luring away her attention from her own interests to focus on me. Waving goodbye for the night, planning the best way to expose her behind a fake smile. I’m the cruelest one here.

Then again. In comparison to her, who isn’t a monster?

**Author's Note:**

> I had an hour to write this in my english diploma prep class. It was based on a poem that I no longer have access to. I ended up really liking how it turned out, so I edited out the typos and whatnot and decided to post it.


End file.
